Bitten By the Earl (Lords of the Night Book Two)

by Sandra Sookoo

  All the more reason to do it.

  “I never forgot you,” Rafe whispered as he trapped her between the brick wall of the townhouse and his hard chest. He cupped her cheek, and even through the kid of his glove, the heat of him seeped into her skin. “I stayed away by choice, fearing you would hate me for eternity, but it was so hard. The pull between us is always there.”

  “For a long time, I did hate you.” Elizabeth let her eyes flutter closed. She curled her fingers into his lapels, caring not if she crushed the fabric. His breath warmed her face, her lips, and she breathed him in as his sandalwood and cinnamon scent wafted about her. This is what she’d missed the most, this closeness she didn’t have with Oliver.

  “And now?” he asked, his lips brushing hers.

  Prickles of anticipation rushed over her skin. Need bloomed deep inside to fill her with liquid heat. She opened her eyes, met his gaze, content that the red ring was still barely noticeable. “Now my stance is slowly changing.” Her heart hammered with the admission.

  Rafe chuckled and the sound sent her spinning faster toward something she desperately wanted but alternately feared. He teased her with a tiny, feather-weighted kiss to the corner of her mouth, and she emitted a shuddering sigh from the beauty of it. “Do you remember our first real kiss?”

  “At my Come Out, before society had firmly turned its back on me because of Donovan.” She moved into his personal space, craving a greater closeness.

  He wrapped his arms around her, stilling her. “I told you none of them mattered, for the ones who did would always be there for you. And they should be the people you keep in your life.”

  She gasped at the realization. “You always were there for me, even when I pushed you away, said horrible things to you.” Tears filled her eyes. He had never changed, not really, but she had. She’d grown hard, and had let fear rule her life.

  When a few tears fell to her cheek, he wiped the moisture away with his thumb, his gaze full of compassion and something stronger, deep down in the depths. Something she didn’t want to ponder. Not yet. “It is forgiven.” Then he kissed her.

  Gently, oh so gently, he moved over her mouth as her eyes closed once more. The sweetness of the gesture renewed the wont to cry, but she returned his explorations, for she’d desired this moment all night. With every brush of his lips, each pass of his mouth on hers, she vowed to enjoy him for the man that he was on this night, in this moment.

  Elizabeth moaned and tugged him closer until every part of her pressed against every part of him. The hardness of his length rubbed along her belly and she shivered with want. He tightened his arms about her and deepened the embrace, dragging his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opened for him. For several seconds, minutes, hours—time ceased to exist in that cloud of pleasure—she communed with him in their old tradition. She wanted more, so much more, and she didn’t want gentle. Not anymore, not after he’d introduced her to everything that long ago night.

  “Elizabeth,” he gasped and wrenched away long enough to stare into her eyes. “I wish to court you properly as I should have done after that night. I will not change my mind about you.”

  Oh, she didn’t want to talk right now, but she owed him an answer. “I won’t tell you nay.” Anything was possible in his arms, while he was this man.

  “I haven’t been this happy in a long while,” he whispered, and he claimed her lips again, only this time, the ring around his irises flared an unmistakable deep red.

  She quickly closed her eyes in an effort to block it out, forget what he truly was beneath all the flattery and pretty words. Slipping a hand around his nape, she encouraged him closer, hoping for a return of the kiss they’d enjoyed not seconds before. When he peppered the underside of her jaw with baby kisses, she sighed, moaned as he moved lower down the side of her neck. With slight pressure at his nape, he returned to her mouth, and she kissed him for all that she was worth.

  Then the inevitable happened. The scrape of a sharp fang. The slight prick on her bottom lip as the skin tore. The metallic taste of blood on her palate.

  No, no, no!

  But her eyes flew open despite her wish to ignore what had always been there, what he couldn’t help but be. His gaze was mesmerizing. She couldn’t tear her focus away, but she did as terror flooded her system and her heartbeat skittered out of control. Memories of that night slammed into her, of the feel of his fangs as they’d punctured her neck. She darted a glance to those elongated teeth, fairly gleaming in the moonlight, and she let her fear overwhelm her.

  “I cannot do this.” Elizabeth beat at his shoulders with her fists.

  “Lizzy, please don’t. I am not a monster.” But he immediately released her. The red ring faded somewhat. Despair shadowed the depths.

  She was beyond reasoning as cold horror swamped her. “No. Not again. It cannot happen again.” Shoving past him, she fled from their hideaway and ran, through the garden and up the path that would lead to the street.

  And she wouldn’t stop running. Not now. Not ever. Rafe was a vampire and she couldn’t reconcile to that. How could I have been so stupid?

  CHAPTER NINE

  December 11, 1815

  It had been two nights since Rafe had seen Elizabeth. Two nights since they’d danced and he’d kissed her, when hope had bloomed again. Two nights since he’d let his control slip a fraction of an inch, the damn fangs had come out, and she’d fled from him in abject terror without once looking back. Now, reeling from the knowledge that she still feared him, hated what he was, he’d fallen into the throes of despair once more, keeping to his rooms and choosing not to leave the townhouse at all.

  A forceful knock at his bedchamber door had him turning his head toward the noise. “Go away and let me die in peace,” he ordered, but his voice was weak even to his own ears, and didn’t carry any sort of authority.

  “Like hell I will,” came the annoyed reply of his valet, Carmichael. He threw open the door, and the oak panel crashed against the wall, the man himself standing in the frame, the perfect image of an avenging angel clad in unrelieved black clothing. “I refuse to let you do this to yourself.”

  “As if you have a say,” Rafe grumbled. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of his servant-turned-friend. “If I wish to die, that is my right.”

  The other man snorted. “And it is my right to make certain you don’t act like a nodcock if you can help it.” He wrenched the curtains around the four-posted bed wide, if the metallic scraping of the hooks on the poles was any indication. “You are not dying on my watch. Not tonight.” As Rafe cracked open his eyes, Carmichael stood peering down at him with his hands on his hips. “Get up or I swear I will drag your arse from this house.”

  That was the problem with having long-term friends, people who had known him since he was a young man. They were incredibly loyal and more noble than they should be; they valued his life when he did not. Rafe lifted a hand that shook from exhaustion and hunger. “It is a direct order.”

  “That I’m directly disobeying.” The valet yanked the bedclothes from Rafe’s body, revealing the fact that he still was clad in the same evening clothes he’d worn two nights ago. In the shadows and moonlight, Carmichael’s eyes reflected shock and worry. “You still have much to live for, Lord Devon.”

  “Don’t tell me lies or give me platitudes.” Rafe turned his head away, couldn’t bear to spy pity in his valet’s gaze. “Without her, without hope, I do indeed have nothing.” The look on her face flashed across his mind’s eye. Never would he forget the fear or the horror in those brandy depths, or her last words to him.

  “No. Not again. It cannot happen again.”

  His chest tightened and his heart squeezed so hard the ache made him catch his breath. That, combined with the constant, throbbing hunger brought him close to the edge. If he didn’t feed soon, he would die. “Leave me, Carmichael,” he said with more authority, and he set about ignoring his lengthening fangs or his fingernails that hurt. Soo
n the claws would tear through. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall, the closed and draped windows. “I want to end the pain.”

  “You need to take nourishment.” The valet leaned in, grabbed Rafe by his lapels, and hauled him off the bed. “Once you’re more clear-headed, then we can talk, and you’ll see what a cake you’re making out of yourself.”

  Rafe stumbled when his knees buckled, but Carmichael’s arm about his waist kept him upright. “Please, upon our friendship, leave me here.”

  The other man grunted. His raven hair, threaded with silver, gleamed in the low light. “It is because of our friendship that I’m doing this.” Carmichael half-walked half-dragged him from his bedchamber, along the corridor and down the stairs. “No woman is worth killing yourself over, my lord.”

  His gut clenched. The hollow feeling in his chest and heart increased. “You’re wrong. Elizabeth is everything.” The words were pulled from his dry throat, and he missed a step. So despondent he’d been after the ball, he’d not even removed his dress shoes.

  “To my way of thinking, Lord Devon, if Lady Elizabeth truly loved you, she would accept you as you are.” Carmichael continued until they reached the entry hall, where the butler opened the door with a nod. “If she does not, why the devil do you keep dangling after her? Where is the respect for yourself? Find a woman who values you for who you are without reservation or compromise. Love doesn’t make or accept excuses.”

  Then he fast-walked Rafe along the pavement, shoved him into a waiting coach, vaulted up after him, and when the door slammed closed, the vehicle sprang into motion.

  Rafe slumped against the squabs. He stared out the window since the black velvet curtains were open. The midnight-shrouded streets of Mayfair slowly went by as the horses trotted along. Had he wasted his time with Elizabeth? There were four days until the full moon, and he was no closer to cajoling her into loving him than he’d been before, but perhaps foolishly, he refused to give up hope.

  Yet if she remained stubborn? If she couldn’t bring herself to accept his beastly side? He blew out a breath. There was no easy answer. Right now, his body shook as hunger made its presence known. He couldn’t think, not when every beat of his heart demanded sustenance. Plus, Carmichael didn’t take his gaze off him—alert and suspicious.

  “What do you expect me to do, man? Pounce at you, rip out your throat?” Saliva filled his mouth at the thought. The valet would be an easy feeding source, and it would solve two problems at the same time—feeding to gather strength and give him the ability to slip away, hide himself from well-caring friends so that he could finally die and forget.

  “At this point, I suspect everything, my lord.”

  Rafe grunted. “Where are we going?”

  “To your club.” The valet’s gray eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light of the coach’s interior. “You will thank me later.”

  “I doubt that.” But didn’t have the strength for a more vigorous protest.

  “In the history of time together, never once have I known you to feel ashamed of what you are,” the man continued, apparently uncaring that Rafe wished for silence. “You have taken the curse in stride, practiced control, done what you can so you could live alongside the beast.”

  “Your point, Carmichael?” So easy it would be to attack the man and sink his fangs into the side of his neck, his leg, his arm anywhere the beat of his pulse beat strong. He quickly swallowed to stave off the inevitable.

  “That being a vampire is part of who you are. Yet you’re willing to toss it away like so much rubbish because a woman who cannot bring herself to accept the truth of you won’t work through her own morass of feelings and remain by your side.” The valet shook his head. “It is embarrassing, and quite frankly, you do not need the constant stress in your life.”

  “So says the man who doesn’t believe in love.” Perhaps if he wrenched open the door and flung himself into the street, he’d have a chance to escape and hide.

  Carmichael leaned over and smacked Rafe’s hand from the door handle. “On the contrary, I believe that love is a defining force in this world. However, if the object of one’s affections continues to resist, then a man needs to have sense enough to set those affections on someone else.”

  “Or try a different approach,” Rafe said as he glowered at his friend.

  “God, you’re impossible,” the valet said with a shake of his head.

  “No, I am hopeful.” Elizabeth merely needed to see him in a different light. It was now a matter of gaining her trust, of spending time with her without the beast rearing its head. Little by little he could show her that side of him, let her accustom to him and see for herself that he wasn’t a monster to fear. “I shall persevere.”

  Carmichael snorted. “Not if you’re dead. If you insist on this foolish idea of continuing to court a woman who doesn’t want you, you must feed.”

  The carriage rocked to a halt.

  When his valet threw open the door, Rafe gained his feet, and then promptly collapsed into a heap on the floor. “Damn it.”

  “Bacon-brained idiot,” Carmichael murmured, but there was a trace of a grin upon his face as he vaulted out, and with the driver’s help, he removed Rafe from the vehicle. “If you think you’re right, then by all means, prove me wrong. But my responsibility is to keep you alive.”

  Rafe stumbled and allowed his valet to more or less drag him into the club. He hated the curious stares while they made their way through the corridors, but there was nothing he could do about it. When the Earl of Coventry came into view, Carmichael shoved Rafe toward him.

  “He is in your care now, my lord. I’ve done all that I can, but he’s stubborn.”

  “I should have fed from you when I had the chance,” Rafe mumbled, but didn’t have the strength to push out of the earl’s hold.

  Carmichael rolled his eyes. “We go through this every few years, my lord, and yet you are still here, thanks to my vigilance.” He and Coventry exchanged a speaking glance. “Please make certain he doesn’t do himself harm.”

  “You have my word.” When Rafe’s knees finally gave out and he crumbled toward the marble floor, the earl growled. Then he picked Rafe up and slung him over his broad shoulder. “Damn it all, Rogue. I cannot believe you let yourself sink so low.” Without another word, Coventry strode through the halls. At least he had the presence of mind to take the back, servants’ stairs. Perhaps not all the club’s members would see his ultimate shame.

  Rafe’s head ached as fiercely as if he’d been beaten. The saliva pooling in his mouth dribbled down his chin and onto his dirty evening clothes. “I wished to die.”

  “You are a dolt and should be ashamed of yourself.” Though the admonishment was harsh, there was caring behind the words. Once they’d quit the stairs, the earl brought him into the rooms set aside for Rafe’s use. To a hovering attendant, he said, “Inform Mrs. Eagan Lord Devon needs attending to.”

  “Right away, my lord.” The young man dashed down the stairs while Coventry unceremoniously dumped Rafe onto the wide, four-poster bed.

  When the earl’s face swam into view, he tried to struggle into a sitting position, but the earl pressed him back into a prone recline with a hand upon his shoulder. “Feed, Rogue. Then we’ll talk.” His tone brooked no argument. “Love has made you an idiot, and not in a good way.”

  Rafe shook his head as his world spun and darkness encroached upon the edges. “She still hates me. It’s useless.”

  “No.” Coventry’s smile was slight, but his green eyes blazed. “You hold onto that sliver of hope, my friend. We shall figure something out, if she is truly what you desire.” He patted Rafe’s shoulder. “Once you feed, you’ll feel better. After that, take a bath and change your clothes. I expect you to attend me this night.” His tone shifted. “I have been worried.”

  Perhaps it wasn’t so terrible having friends who cared. “I am sorry…” He looked toward the door when the rustle of fabric reached his ears. Two women stood t
here—one the petite, voluptuous bit of fluff he’d fed from days before, and the other a middle-age woman who managed the doxies.

  “Oh, dear heavens, he’s nearly gone,” Mrs. Eagan whispered. She glanced at Coventry. “We will get him right as rain as soon as we can, my lord.”

  “Thank you.” With a last squeeze of Rafe’s shoulder, the earl left the bedside. “Do not leave him until his strength is fully restored. The deuced nodcock will not forfeit himself this night.”

  He was left alone with the women who would keep him from ending his life.

  Two hours later, Rafe joined Coventry at their customary table and threw himself into a chair. He’d fed until he’d felt more like himself, and then Mrs. Eagan had ordered him a bath. She refused to leave the room, so Rafe had been forced to demonstrate he controlled all of his faculties by washing and then dressing himself, with her assistance, since Carmichael had been sent home.

  Though his body had been restored, his mindset had not, and it didn’t seem likely to change, especially when the Duke of Manchester joined their party before Rafe could pour out a measure of brandy. “Manchester. Good to see you.”

  “Rogue. Nice to have you pop by,” the duke returned, his tone warm.

  The Earl of Coventry stared, his emerald eyes brilliant in the candlelight. “Well?”

  “Uh…” Rafe exchanged a glance with the earl. The likelihood of talking out his frustration in front of the duke was small.

  “Will you tell us why you’ve plunged yourself into such maudlin depths that death seems like your only option?” the earl continued, not giving any quarter as he sipped at the ruby port in his crystal glass.

  Manchester snapped his gaze to Rafe and stared. “You tried to kill yourself?” A trace of accusation hung on the question.

  “Yes.” In order to explain, he would need to admit to the fact he’d tried to begin a courtship with the duke’s sister. He sent his attention to the earl. “And no. It is of no consequence.”